


All you need is (g)love(s)

by lasersheith



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Time, Hand Kink, M/M, Misunderstandings, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Size Kink, canon compliant since vld ended after season 7 weird right, christmas porn, sort of? kind of glove kink, the rare 'establish relationship + mutual pining'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 18:39:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17249345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasersheith/pseuds/lasersheith
Summary: Shiro and Keith spend their first Christmas as a couple after the war.Keith stares up at him, panting, with pupils the size of dinner plates. “Shiro,” he whispers the name like a prayer. “Please, don't, don't shut me out again.”Shiro's brows furrow as Keith's grip across his shoulders tightens. “We can keep waiting if you want, just please tell me why.”The world narrows down to the tiny freckle just to the left of Keith's nose. Shiro's never noticed it before and it's all he can seem to focus on while Keith's words process in his mind.“I thought,” he's mumbling and he knows it. “I thought you wanted to wait.”Keith blinks up at him with big doe eyes and Shiro feels like an idiot. “Why?”





	All you need is (g)love(s)

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun trying to incorporate all of my secret santa's wish list for the dark sheith secret santa exchange! I take "or" as a challenge ;) Merry Christmas!

Shiro’s trying to see whether the soles of his boots or the hard concrete floor will wear out first. He’s still in his dress uniform that all of the paladins had decided to wear to the Christmas party and he wishes it was helping him feel a little more like the battle-hardened military commander he is and less like a scared little boy, but he's shaking in his boots. 

It's the first Christmas he and Keith are going to spend as a couple and the glaring failures of relationships past are haunting him as he paces up and down the hall in front of Keith's room. He'd spent weeks planning the perfect gifts and all three of them seem silly now that he's about to present them. The packages were wrapped and rewrapped until he got every strip of paper perfect even though he knows Keith's just going to rip them open. They're floating by the door, held in his massive prosthetic palm while he tries to get his heartbeat under control. 

Matt had been very little help when Shiro had begged him for advice.  _ You know him better than anyone, Shiro. Just get him something sappy, he'll love whatever you pick out.  _ And even that unhelpful tidbit had come after Shiro shot down a dozen much more lewd suggestions. 

They'd been together for months now, three of them almost to the day, and still hadn't  _ sealed the deal  _ as Matt liked to call it. Shiro's been telling himself that he's fine with waiting, that he made Keith wait years and he'll wait forever if he has to. That being with Keith and being in love is enough.

He means it. Mostly. 

Of course he means it. But stalking up and down the barren gray hallway, he tries to talk himself out of having  _ that  _ conversation on tonight of all nights. They'd both had too much champagne at the party and left early to celebrate in private and Shiro knows people will  _ assume  _ that's why they left early, but Keith's been hesitant any time his hands wander too far south and Shiro respects those boundaries. He does. 

That doesn't mean his eyes don't glaze over every time he sees Keith in the gym and it doesn't mean his heart isn't leaping out of his chest every time he holds Keith close. Keith's the most gorgeous person Shiro's ever seen and sometimes it's torture to keep his hands to himself when he wants to touch every last inch of skin he can reach and then some. 

His current train of tipsy thought isn't helping get him any closer to the door and he knows it. Shiro stops in front of it and takes a deep breath. He knows he'll never be more ready than he is now, so he pushes the door open and goes inside.

Keith looks up from the couch with a smile. He's already changed into a soft gray t-shirt and athletic shorts that hang just above the knees on his long, slender legs. The only light in the room is from the small synthetic Christmas tree in the corner and it bathes them both in gold. Keith's eyes are shining as he pats the cushion next to him and Shiro forgets how to breathe. 

He sits down on the couch, knees brushing Keith's, without the ability to recall how he got there. His left hand reaches out of its own accord and tucks a stray lock of hair behind Keith's ear. 

“You're so beautiful,” Shiro hears himself whisper.

Keith's cheeks flush pink and he turns away with a laugh. “I'm in pajamas.” 

Shiro doesn't know what to say but suddenly there's a box in his hand and Keith is nodding at him to open it. It's wrapped, but not well and with too much tape. Shiro already loves it. 

It's obviously a shirt from the size and weight of the box, but Shiro doesn't waste any time tearing it open. He laughs as he holds it up to his chest. “I think it's a little small,” he teases. The black tank top reads  _ I flexed and the sleeves ripped off.  _ “Did Lance put you up to this?” 

Keith gives him a wide, cheeky grin. “Allura, actually. Liked it so much she bought herself a pink one.” 

Shiro shakes his head fondly. “Great, now we'll match while she kicks my ass when we spar.” 

They laugh together for a moment and Shiro hands one of his boxes over, heart speeding up and stomach sinking all over again. Keith doesn't stop and inspect it like Shiro did, he slides his finger delicately under the tape and pulls off the colorful paper like he's going to save it. He looks up with soft smile when he sees what's inside. 

“Shiro,” his eyes are swimming with gratitude, “they're perfect.” 

He pulls the gloves out of the package and tears off his old, tattered ones unceremoniously. The paper, plastic and leather are dumped on the floor while he tries the new gloves on.

“Just my size,” he declares with a wiggle of his fingers. 

“Good,” is all Shiro can bring himself to say. 

The gloves wrap around Keith's hands like a second skin and he's always loved the long, elegant curves of Keith's fingers, but they look so  _ good  _ in leather. It's hard to tear his eyes away. 

Another package is shoved into Shiro’s chest, breaking the trance he’s found himself in. It’s smaller than the shirt, but heavier. Keith huffs as he holds up to his ear and shakes it, trying to figure out what’s inside without looking. Shiro smirks when he sees Keith cross his arms and pout in his peripheral vision. 

“Just open it.” 

Shiro gives in and follows the softly barked command. The pile of wrapping paper on the floor next to the couch grows another layer and he can’t bite back the laugh that bubbles up from his chest when he sees what’s inside. 

Keith frowns at his reaction. “What?”

Shiro hands his second package over with a grin and Keith doesn’t waste any time ripping it open just as carefully as the first. A nearly identical box sits on both of their laps; the same brand and style of goggles, one size medium and one size extra large. Keith is laughing now too and it’s the most the most beautiful sound Shiro’s ever heard. 

“Well I guess this means we’re racing tomorrow,” Shiro teases, pulling the goggles on and adjusting the straps. 

Keith follows his lead, still grinning. “Hope you’re ready to lose.” The cocky grin goes right down Shiro’s spine. 

“At least the view will be nice,” he retorts without thinking. He’s never been good at flirting, but the way Keith’s smirk flips into a shy smile and the blush that spills across his cheeks make feel like he’s succeeded. 

The last package in his lap is the one that Shiro spent the most time fretting over. He still isn’t sure if Keith will like it as he hands it over, but it’s too late to back out. Keith pushes his goggles up into his hair and rips it open. Shiro pulls his own down to hang around his neck so he can see Keith’s reaction unfiltered. 

Keith’s eyes go wide and he runs his hands down the length of the leather sheath reverently. “Shiro,” he whispers breathlessly. 

“It’s uh,” Shiro stutters, he can’t seem to stop stuttering around Keith lately. “It’s engraved on the back.” 

Keith flips it over and stares at the engraving. Shiro spent weeks trying to figure out exactly the right words but once he found them he knew it couldn’t have been anything else.  _ As many times as it takes  _ stands out in silver-lined black on the dark leather. It runs vertically down the length, measured to hold Keith’s luxite blade perfectly, and a small  _ T+K  _ takes up the tip. 

Slowly and carefully, Keith sets everything in his lap onto the coffee table and then does the same for the small pile on Shiro’s. Shiro’s eyes watch him like a hawk, unsure of Keith’s intentions. They become abundantly clear when Keith’s fingers curl around the goggles resting against Shiro’s collarbones and pull him into a toe-curling kiss. 

Keith lets go so he can wrap his arms around Shiro’s neck and curl a hand in his hair and just like that, Shiro’s gone. He pushes Keith onto his back, tossing pillows and cushions onto the floor to make room. Keith came back from the war more muscular, toned in a way that drives Shiro wild, but he's still dwarfed by Shiro's bulk leaning over him, pressing him into the couch. The kiss is sloppy and heated and perfect. All the blood that normally helps his higher brain function is quickly being summoned where it's been deemed more useful and Shiro has to pull away before he knows he won't be able to. 

Keith stares up at him, panting, with pupils the size of dinner plates. “Shiro,” he whispers the name like a prayer. “Please, don't, don't shut me out again.” 

Shiro's brows furrow as Keith's grip across his shoulders tightens. “We can keep waiting if you want, just please tell me why.” 

The world narrows down to the tiny freckle just to the left of Keith's nose. Shiro's never noticed it before and it's all he can seem to focus on while Keith's words process in his mind. 

“I thought,” he's mumbling and he knows it. “I thought  _ you  _ wanted to wait.” 

Keith blinks up at him with big doe eyes and Shiro feels like an idiot. “Why?” 

“You,” Shiro shakes his head, memories of the previous months streaming across his mind’s eye like he’s a dying man reliving his fondest moments before passing into the great beyond. “You always seem so nervous when we,” he gestures between them with his prosthetic even though he’s leaning over Keith in what amounts to a one-armed pushup. He’s nearly 30 and he knows he should be able to say  _ make out  _ but it feels too juvenile and he can’t force the words from his lips. 

Keith’s face scrunches up and Shiro can practically see the wheels in his head turning as Keith slides out from underneath of him and sits up. Shiro sits up with him, so close their legs are still touching. The deep breath Keith takes seems too quiet and Shiro realizes it’s because he can hear his own pulse pounding in his ears. This conversation is months overdue and he’s never been good at talking unless it’s a motivational speech. 

“Shiro,” Keith starts fondly and a little bit condescending. Shiro feels like he deserves it as Keith takes his hand. “I  _ am  _ nervous.” The quiet admission isn’t what he expected and he doesn’t know how to respond, but Keith saves him from himself, like he always does. “I’ve been in love with you since I was  _ fifteen.  _ Every time you kiss me it’s still hard to believe it’s really happening.” 

Shiro cups his face with his prosthetic and Keith has never seemed smaller, more fragile. He still doesn’t know what to say, but Keith’s name spills from his mouth and he hopes it’s enough. The smile that softens Keith’s hard expression makes it feel like it might be. 

“Don’t wanna wait anymore.” It’s a question, but it’s not. Shiro’s breath catches again. 

“Ok.” He meant to be more romantic, or at least more reassuring, but his head is still spinning. 

The time for hesitating is long over and Shiro tumbles down on top of Keith with purpose this time. Their lips and tongues move against each like they were made for it and Shiro’s never been so thankful for his new arm as when reaches down and coaxes Keith’s legs around his waist. Hips slotted together, they’re rutting against each other still fully clothed and Shiro has to lean away from Keith’s mouth and bite the inside of his cheek to keep from turning it into a disappointing evening for both of them. 

Keith rubs the side of his face against Shiro’s as he pants. “You ok?” The soft whisper in his ear sends chills down his heated spine. 

In lieu of an answer, he pulls himself upright and brings Keith along for the ride. Keith’s surprised laugh and the way his arms lock around Shiro’s shoulders makes him dizzier than how fast he stands up. It’s a mad dash to the bedroom and Shiro almost forgets he’s still wearing his dress shoes when they fall in a heap onto Keith’s bed. 

He swears under his breath and lets his prosthetic do the work of untying and tossing them to the floor, unwilling to untangle the flesh and blood hand from Keith’s hair. Keith tears at his uniform with none of the care that he’d given to the wrapping paper and Shiro can’t bring himself to be the least bit upset at the buttons that go flying in his wake. 

The uniform is a pain to peel off and it’s group effort to get Shiro down to goggles, shorts and socks but they make good time. Keith’s more casual dress comes off much easier and Shiro tries to be gentle as he reaches for the straps knotted in several places around Keith’s head. Keith bats his hands away and yanks, not even wincing as several strands of hair rip along with the goggles. It’s not enough to be noticeable but Shiro grimaces in sympathy. 

Keith uncurls the velcro at his wrist but Shiro stops him from pulling the glove off with a gentle squeeze. “Leave them on?” 

Their eyes meet and the realization dawns on Keith as he nods. He pulls the goggles from around Shiro’s neck and tosses them aside to be hunted down in the morning along with the rest of their clothes. Shiro feels the mix of leather and skin press into his chest and Keith is straddling him before he even realizes he’s on his back. 

With nothing in between them, the heated slide of flesh against is electrifying and Shiro’s gripping Keith’s hips so hard he’s worried he’ll leave fingerprint shaped bruises. Keith doesn’t seem to mind at all, one hand still planted on Shiro’s chest and the other working over both of them in a maddenly slow and steady rhythm. 

“Keith,” Shiro’s almost embarrassed of the high pitched whine, but it makes Keith’s eyes slide shut and his shoulders shudder. 

“Second drawer,” he pants, hand stilling and gripping both of them just the right side of too tightly. 

Shiro doesn’t need to be told twice. Precision is a little tricky still, but he’s had enough practice that he only nearly pulls the drawer off its tracks as he hunts down the bottle half blind. Cool liquid is spreading into his palm and his heart is trying its best to rearrange his ribcage. 

“Other hand,” Keith whispers. His skin is already flushed with exertion but the blush creeps up to the tips of his ears and Shiro coats his metal fingers without a second thought. 

The soft gasp Keith lets out as the cold digit presses against him is a sound that Shiro swears he’ll never forget as long as he lives. He’s determined to hear it as often as possible for the rest of his life. 

His left hand is still gripping Keith’s hip as he pushes gently inside, steadying both of them. The sensors don’t feel like actual flesh but the heat and pressure and texture still filter into his brain and make him bite his lip. Keith’s eyes are closed and he’s rocking back onto Shiro’s hand and keening into his touch. It’s almost too much. 

Shiro’s always talked a big game about patience but the minutes of slowly stretching and preparing Keith are the longest in recent memory. “Shiro, please,” Keith’s begging and nearly growling but Shiro has to be sure he’s ready. The thought of hurting Keith, especially like this, is unbearable. 

His fingers finally slip free and Keith is scrambling for the bottle, pouring twice as much as he needs over Shiro in a slippery, chilly puddle. He’s on his knees and sinking down onto Shiro and neither of them can tell which moan belongs to whom. Shiro’s spent months imagining what it would feel like and it’s almost too good to be true. 

The rhythm Keith sets is steady and agonizing. Shiro cants his hips up to meet Keith on every downswing and every time his eyes flutter closed he tears them back open. The sight of Keith rocking onto him with his head thrown back and hands gripping desperately at Shiro’s bent knees is too good to miss for even a moment. 

Shiro knows on an unconscious level that Keith is smaller than him, most people are and Keith has never been exceedingly bulky. But the way Shiro’s thigh bracket his hips and hold him up like he weighs nothing makes spots dance in front of his vision. Some other time, when this isn’t so new, when it’s not so overwhelming, Shiro will let Keith have him like this. Let Keith take as long as he wants. 

But not tonight. 

Shiro twists them so Keith is the one on his back and the change in angle makes both of them shudder and groan. Keith leans up desperately clashing their mouths together. The sting of pain when their teeth clack together doesn’t deter either of them. Shiro’s legs and abs burn with the effort he’s expending, driving Keith into the mattress with no grace or finesse. 

His right shoulder is glowing brighter than the light filtering in from the living room as he supports himself with his prosthetic and takes Keith in his left hand. Shiro’s name is a frantic litany, spilling out of Keith’s mouth in between every gasped breath. They lose themselves in each other and Shiro’s vision goes white as Keith clenches around him, coating their stomachs. 

Shiro has just enough coherency left to roll to the side as he collapses so he doesn’t crush Keith under his weight. He pulls Keith half on top of him and presses kisses across his sweaty forehead while they both wait for their hearts to slow. 

Keith pulls away and sits up on an elbow, a satisfied smile on his exhausted face. “Hey, Merry Christmas.” It comes out as a breathless chuckle. 

Shiro grins, too tired and still out of breath for laughter, pulling Keith back against his chest. “Merry Christmas.” 


End file.
